Dawn of the Frigid Hour
On this woeful day I must walk in the cold.
Alone, dark and cold with frozen fingers and cold earlobes.
Nothing but a psychological fire to keep me warm.
A sI stand in this frigid hour my bus comes to save me from this frigid terror.
so im just going to make up a poem now so it wont be great as i wont modifie it...
i am the cold, cycloid complexity
of the numerous places,
i am the laughing child's perplexity,
among this crowd's faces.
too sad that child has not seen,
a lifes hard blows and...